Bring Back the Sun!
by NEZUMIso-soup
Summary: Ivan Braginski works for a private postal service, and is one day sent to the richer parts of the city, where he meets a young, noble lady named Tiina Väinamöinen. Contains Russia, Genderbend!Finland, Estonia and Sweden, possibly more later on,Human names
1. Letters and Parcels

IVAN BRAGINSKI'S POINT OF VIEW

It was about six in the morning. Outside the window it was cold and wet a thick fog had covered the city, turning all colours gray and reducing visibility to almost zero.  
>Ivan Braginski felt no desire to leave the kitchen. Sitting on a wooden chair in front of a stained wooden table, the Russian with almost silvery, blond hair and purple eyes clasped his hands around his warm cup of coffee and sighed. Soon he would have to leave. As much as he loved his job, he valued staying dry and warm more. For a few more moments, though, he could just sit there, enjoying his coffee and the thought that he was lucky to have found the small flat, that stayed warm and dry exceptionally well considering the low rent, and didn't have to sleep in a doorway or on a bench in a park.<br>To someone looking in, the scene might have looked like a serene, gray-washed painting. There was something soothing in the simplicity of the kitchen, even though it lacked any decorations to make it cozy. The only flaw could perhaps have been the exceptionally tall man's nose, which was slightly too big. But, because no one saw, no one cared, and no painting was made depicting the Russian Ivan Braginski.

One hour later Ivan entered the company building. The company was called Helios, after the Greek god that drove around with the sun in his wagon. This was appropriate, as the company in question shipped letters, parcels and sometimes even larger shipments that were too important or urgent for the public postal service.  
>Ivan had been recruited by the company president because of his physique; surely no one would dare attack the tall, scary Russian, Ivan Braginski? Hence, the letters and parcels (larger shipments were handled by another branch) would be safe.<br>Apart from the early mornings and the occasional bad weather, Ivan liked his job. Mostly because it paid relatively well, but it was also nice to cycle around the city, looking for the destinations of letters and parcels, seeing who lived in which house and their reactions as long-awaited replies arrived, or, even better, watch faces light up as unexpected packages were placed in their hands.  
>Ivan quickly changed from his simple clothes – a plain brown jacket over an originally white shirt and trousers that had been miscoloured into a green nuance – into the uniform provided to him (it was basically the same, only made from better cloth and with the company logo), but kept his own, fur-lined hat, as it was warmer than the one the company provided.<br>A messenger bag had been prepared for him, filled with letters and parcels waiting to be united with their new owners. Checking the address list, Ivan noticed that several items were to be delivered to residences in the better parts of town.  
><em>Maybe I can finally put some faces to some often heard names? <em>he thought, but doubted it. Usually the rich and nobles had servants to answer the door. _But one can always hope._

After having only met one prominent person face-to-face, and having spoken to 23 servants, Ivan approached the 25th house, with little hope of seeing someone even remotely famous. His hopes were further diminished as he read the name of the person the last parcel was addressed to: Tiina Väinamöinen. It rang no bells.  
>Still, the address seemed familiar…<br>Ivan knocked on the door, and prepared to talk to another servant. And was pleasantly surprised as a young noble woman opened the door. He could easily tell she wasn't a servant by the quality and exquisite decorations of the dress she wore. The dress was a clear violet, much like her eyes, and blonde hair curled gently about her shoulders.

"Parcel for you, ma'am!" Ivan said, giving her his sunniest smile. "If I'm correct in assuming that you are Tiina Väinamöinen?"

The young woman smiled back, but Ivan could discern a certain tiredness in her eyes that people receiving parcels usually didn't have. Why was such a beautiful young woman in such a state, that she couldn't enjoy something so joyful?

TIINA VÄINAMÖINEN'S POINT OF VIEW

"Yes, you are correct."

Tiina Väinamöinen smiled politely, but couldn't muster even the slightest feeling of joy as she looked at the parcel the messenger reached her. She had recognized the hand-writing as the one belonging to one of her more persistent suitors, Berwald Oxenstierna, and had decided she did not want that parcel. However, it was not the messenger's fault, so she felt a bit guilty over making him wait, not making a single move to take it.

"Ma'am..?" The messenger cocked his head slightly to the left. "Is something wrong?" His eyes – an interesting shade of purple – searched her face for an answer.

"I do not want that parcel," Tiina declared. The messenger's eyes widened in surprise.

"Why not?" he asked, as if he couldn't even fathom a reason for not wanting a letter or parcel. "Aren't you happy, that someone thinks of you, and treasures you highly enough to send you something?" His eyes locked onto hers, as if he could find the answer there. Tiina envied him his naivety. She could come up with many reasons for not wanting a letter, or indeed a parcel.  
><em>No, I'm not happy. And I do not want that parcel.<br>_She crossed her arms over her chest.

"No. I do not want that parcel, so please return it to the sender."

"But shouldn't you consider the feelings of the sender? Please, take it!"

Tiina sighed exasperatedly. _Why is it so important to him? _

"Fine!" she snapped in a very un-lady-like way, and grabbed the parcel. As she did, her fingers brushed over the messenger's hand, and she noticed that his hands were without gloves, and very cold. "Your hand is freezing!" she exclaimed.  
>Again, surprise. Did he not notice how cold he was?<p>

"Oh," the messenger said, lifting his hand so he could examine it, and let it fall to his side. "This is nothing," he said with a shrug and a smile, "In Russia it was colder."

Tiina shook her head, the anger had vanished, and she pitied the messenger and felt ashamed over her own behavior. "That simply won't do. I'll go see if I can find any gloves for you. Would you like to come in while you're waiting?" _It's the least I can do to excuse myself…_

The messenger's eyes widened again, in such a child-like expression this time as if he couldn't believe such kindness existed. On any other adult man it would have looked ill-placed, but somehow it suited him.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly accept such a generous offer..!" he began, almost stuttering.

"Please, I insist," Tiina felt herself smile. "It's not like me to behave so rudely, allow me to do this for you." _It's not like I have anything else to do, anyway. _She was already sick of embroidery, she couldn't seem to get the piano, and she had already read all the books that seemed interesting, and that were written in a comprehensible language.

"Well…" the messenger hesitated, and then smiledshyly. "If you insist."

IVAN BRAGINSKI'S POINT OF VIEW

Ivan timidly followed Tiina into her house. As she turned around to close the door behind them, she seemed startled by how tall he was (outside, he had been standing three steps below on the stairs, so he'd been approximately at eye-level for her), and then she mumbled an apology for being rude once again.

"It's okay, I'm used to it," he tried to assure her, but she shook her head frantically, her blonde hair getting unsettled.

"It's not okay! I'm terribly sorry…"

Ivan didn't really know what to say, usually people just tried to avoid him, that someone actually apologized was new to him, so he simply nodded.

The house wasn't as heavily decorated and boastful as noble-owned houses usually were, but there was still enough gold, silver and expensive textiles for Ivan to request he sit in the kitchen instead of the sitting room. Tiina looked relieved.

"To be honest, I prefer the kitchen, too," she said, smiling broadly now. Ivan was glad that she seemed to have gotten over his height, and even happier that he'd said something right.  
>The kitchen was cluttered in a cozy way, in the middle was a heavy wooden table with chairs around, a large fireplace dominated the northern wall, and a cooking area the western. The southern wall was covered in vegetables hanging to dry and shelves with jars filled with spices and jams and more vegetables. In the roof hung long poles with large rye breads, and wherever there was space hung cooking utensils. The smell was very strong, mixed with the smoke from the burning logs (the bad weather kept the smoke from rising properly into the chimney), but Tiina didn't seem to notice it. Kicking some sacks with potatoes into a corner, she freed a stool which she placed in front of a cupboard so she could reach the already ground coffee-beans.<p>

"I'm afraid I don't have any tea," she said, motioning for Ivan to sit, "I hope coffee will do Mr..?"

"Ivan Braginski." Ivan nodded. "Coffee would be great," he said, and meant it. Now that the rest of him had warmed up, he could feel how cold his hands were, and longed to hold a warm cup.

"Sugar? Milk?" Tiina asked, without slowing down in her preparations, a pot was already filled with water and hung to boil over the fire.

"No thank you." Ivan had never gotten used to the idea of putting something sweet in the beverage. Tiina nodded, and put the sugar back onto a shelf. She then opened another, smaller cupboard and gave up a triumphant "Aha!" as she found a half-eaten cake. She quickly cut it into slices to make it look more presentable, and less like something that had been forgotten in a cupboard for God knows how long.

"It should still be perfectly edible," she said, smiling apologetically. Ivan wondered how long it was since he had eaten cake, could it really be five years?

"It looks great."

"Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks," Tiina joked, and took the pot off the fire. Soon two cups of steaming coffee were on the table, and Ivan gratefully picked his up, but didn't drink as he was afraid he'd get burnt. He looked at the parcel that lay forgotten on the table.

"…Shouldn't you open it?" he asked carefully, afraid to ruin the nice atmosphere.

"Well, Mr. Ivan Braginski," Tiina said, "That would usually be the logical course of action." She sipped her coffee. "But I already said that I did not even want that package. And I feel even less inclined to open it, seeing as it was forced unto me."

"…May I ask _why_ you do not want the parcel?"

Tiina picked up a piece of cake, ate some, and spent an excessive amount of time chewing it before finally resigning and answering.

"It was sent by Berwald Oxenstierna," she begun.

"The duke?"

"The very same. We're engaged," she continued, sadness filling her voice. "Against my will. I also live here, against my will, and wear these fancy dresses, against my will." She sighed. "It's not like he's been mean to me, really, but I can't bring myself to like him. He's too silent, too _scary, _he always sort of hovers over you. Well, you might be taller than him, actually, but you get the idea."

Ivan did get the idea. Although Tiina was in no way short, especially considering she was a woman, if Berwald was about Ivan's height, he could imagine how intimidating that could be.

"Couldn't you live with your parents? I mean, you aren't married, after all…"

"They live in Finland, and Mr. Duke thought that was too far away, and sent for me to come live here. Father says this could be a great opportunity for the Väinamöinen family and supports the marriage, so he sent me here, together with Eduard."

Ivan looked inquiringly at her.

"My servant and best friend," Tiina explained.

"Who does not approve of his master's loose behavior," a stern voice said behind Ivan. "Really now," a blond, bespectacled young man reprimanded, "How could you even think of doing something so stupid as to invite a total stranger – a man, no less! – into your house when you're alone?"

Tiina frowned. "Eduard, you know full well I can take care of myself."

"When you have a gun, yes. I see no gun."

Tiina grineed, and pulled out a drawer. It was full of knives of different lengths and blades. "These are more than sufficient."

Ivan leaned back discretely. He did not want to be within reach of the young noble woman, now holding one of the bigger knives, nor her servant with a look of severe disapproval on his face. "Killing isn't good," he said, and took the knife away from her. He then turned to Ivan. "I apologize that you had to see that."

"No… Umm…" Ivan didn't know what to say anymore, this had probably been the weirdest mornings in his entire life, so he chose to stay silent.

"Do you want some coffee, Eduard?" Tiina asked, and Eduard nodded.

"After that, I do believe I need some coffee."

Since both Tiina and Eduard proceeded to drink their coffee and nibble some cake, and since none of them seemed to have any further objections to Ivan's presence, Ivan decided he might as well finish his own cake and coffee before excusing himself.

"So, what is he doing here anyway?" Eduard asked, more curious than hostile now, waving a spoon in Ivan's direction.

"Oh, he delivered that package, and he looked cold so I invited him in for coffee. Oh, that's right; I was going to look for some gloves, too!" Tiina bounced up from her chair and disappeared out of the kitchen.

Eduard looked from the empty doorway to Ivan.

"You know," he said slowly, "I haven't seen her this happy in a while. A very long while. As her servant, I cannot approve of you, but as a friend, I think it was good you came by."

Ivan, yet again at loss for words, looked down into the table and said nothing, trying to keep from smiling. Luckily, he didn't have to say anything, for Tiina entered the kitchen again with a pair of good gloves for Ivan, who excused himself and went back to the office, a silly grin on his face all the way back.


	2. Intimacy?

**BERWALD OXENSTIERNA'S POINT OF VIEW**

_Ka-thunk, Ka-thunk..._

The train compartment was empty, save for one tall, intimidating Swede. He had sandy blond hair and behind the glasses blue eyes that seemed to attempt to set fire on everything they saw with their intense stare. Only, right now the Duke's eyes were filled with a rare tenderness. It wasn't because of the book he had received to entertain himself while travelling from the country's southern tip back to the city, for the book lay forgotten beside him. He had made an honest attempt to read it, but it couldn't catch and keep his attention for too long. His mind kept wandering towards the city he was travelling to – or rather, a woman, proud, strong and fair, to Tiina Väinamöinen.  
>She herself had been opposed to the engagement, but her father had 'convinced' her it was the right thing.<br>Berwald couldn't help himself; he had to smile as he remembered Tiina, arguing loudly with her father in Finnish. Berwald couldn't be sure, he didn't speak the at once ridiculously hard but melodious language, but judging by the tone there had probably been several swear-words involved – from both sides.  
>Berwald could see too well that Tiina didn't love him (it was probably closer to 'hate'), but he wouldn't give up. A marriage would be beneficial to the Väinamöinens, and Berwald really did love Tiina. <em>It would be good for the both of us,<em> Berwald thought, convinced that he was right. _I just need to get her to realize it, too._

* * *

><p><strong>IVAN BRAGINSKI'S POINT OF VIEW<strong>

A month had passed since Ivan first met Tiina, and they had continued to have coffee together, with or without Eduard.  
>The first week Ivan had only dared to go twice, when he had letters to deliver. He was invited in both times, and after the second time they all called each other by their given names (Ivan only did this after they started calling him 'Ivan', he had still been a bit nervous about the episode with the knife).<br>The following two weeks Ivan found out more about the other two than he had ever cared to know, and Ivan also shared some of his happier childhood memories from Russia.  
>The fourth week the lady and her servant surprised the messenger by appearing in his own flat one noon. Ivan was greatly embarrassed at first; he only had what was strictly necessary furniture-wise, and the three coffee mugs he could provide were from three different sets that didn't even remotely resemble each other. The coffee was cheap, and since he hadn't been expecting guests he could only offer buttered bread along-side it.<br>When Tiina accepted this without so much as giving the frugal meal (if you could even call it that) an odd look, Ivan could almost feel tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. When Eduard gave him a understanding, reassuring smile Ivan had had to turn his back towards them and cut up some more bread (and discreetly wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt).  
>Ah, yes, Eduard. He and Ivan became the best of friends, and Ivan would help Eduard with the daily purchases and other chores, because although Eduard liked his role as Tiina's servant, doing everything by himself was a bit too much. Eduard didn't quite agree on this point, and initially politely refused Ivan's help, but when Tiina threatened to start doing more than just cooking on her own Eduard quickly changed his mind.<p>

"Tiina is great," he told Ivan while comparing two brands of soap, "and her cooking is too, which is why I let her cook instead of insisting we hire a chef – that, and she would probably go mad with boredom – but she should be kept far away from all other kinds of household activities, _especially _cleaning. God only knows how she did it, but with the help of some chemicals and my little brother, Raivis, she managed to blow up the servant's quarter. It was all blamed on little Raivis though; he didn't know enough Finnish to defend himself, so they sent him to some of our relatives in Latvia."

Ivan paled a little, and Eduard laughed.

"Don't worry, they made sure no one was in there before they blew it up. The servants had been trying to negotiate for some new furniture, but Väinamöinen-Herra said that as long as the old pieces were still whole he wouldn't buy anything new. Tiina just decided to speed up the process."

Ivan nodded, he still didn't quite see the humor in it, but at least Tiina had had good intentions.  
>Eduard finally settled on a brand of soap, and after negotiating the prices he paid, and with their arms full of bags and packages, the two men walked back to the house where Ivan had first met the other two.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>BERWALD OXENSTIERNA'S POINT OF VIEW<strong>

Berwald was met with ice-cold contempt, badly hidden behind a politely smiling mask, from the woman he loved the most. He sat with a cup of tea that was - with some imagination - luke-warm, in the least comfortable sofa that Tiina had asked (read: ordered) him to make himself (un)comfortable in.  
>Although it peeved him to be treated with such hostility and impertinence in his own house (it was one of his smaller properties, before it was decided that Tiina would live there it had been used mainly as a place to rest before he travelled further) and although any other woman that dared treat him like that would have been punished – directly or indirectly – Berwald let Tiina do as she pleased. He had early come to understand that Tiina Väinamöinen would not come to love him that way (that, and he didn't want her blowing up a perfectly functional house, small or not).<br>As Berwald calmly pretended to be enjoying his tea – which tasted awful – Tiina's patience ran out, and, muttering something in Finnish, stomped her way back into the kitchen in a very unladylike way.  
>Berwald smiled for the second time that day, which was only one time too little for a personal record. However, the smile was quickly wiped off his face as knocks sounded, a rapid rapping on the front door. He frowned, who could be coming at this hour? Then he reminded himself that the back door was inaccessible since a long time back, the alley had been blocked by a crumbled wall that no one had bothered to clear away, and that it probably just was that servant returning.<br>Berwald pulled himself up to his full height and went to answer the door. It was his house, after all.  
>He was relieved to find that the person behind the door was indeed the servant, almost disappearing behind all that he had purchased, the Estonian was the only one who could calm the Finnish fury.<p>

"Duke Oxenstierna!" Eduard's eyes widened in surprise behind a bag of vegetables. "How… Unexpected…"

Berwald frowned again. "S'nt a lettah."

"You did?" The Estonian glanced away, chuckling nervously.

Following the shorter man's gaze, Berwald finally noticed the other man, who was staring rather openly at him with purple eyes (in a way they reminded him a bit about Tiina, but they were a darker shade and filled with a naivety that would never fill hers). Judging by the man's simple clothing he was probably a servant too.

"Who's 'at?" The Duke's truncated way of speaking always surprised people the first time he met them. It wasn't something he could help, as a child he had been forced to play with his Danish cousin, Mathias, and Mathias had slight anger management issues. They weren't enemies, but as children they couldn't stand each other (except when they met that albino Prussian and his '_Bruder_', at those times they'd join forces and kick rear body parts). The last time Berwald and Mathias met as children Mathias left with a broken arm, and Berwald left with a little less tongue.

"Oh, um… This is my friend, Ivan Braginski," Eduard smiled nervously. Ivan hurriedly made an awkward bow, the bags in his arms kept him from bending over too far. "He kindly helped me carry what I bought."

Berwald nodded, and realized he was blocking the door. He stepped aside, and as Ivan walked past Berwald noticed that the other man actually was taller than him. Berwald also noticed that Ivan seemed to know the house – _Berwald's house –_ very well; at least the lower floor. And, above all, Berwald noticed that Tiina, having just exited the kitchen, blessed Ivan with a genuine smile, that seemed a little different than the one she'd give Eduard.

"Ivan!" Berwald froze. She used the man's given name.

"Good afternoon, Tii –" Berwald saw ivan glancing at him, and the Russian quickly corrected himself. "Ms. Väinamöinen."

_That's it, _Berwald decided.

* * *

><p><em>Drama! :O<br>Sorry this took so long, I didn't have my laptop, and of course that's where this chapter lay, unfinished and depressed. After the next chapter there will be a surprising turn of events..! Look forward to it! :D_


	3. Intermission

"And now we're taking a fifteen-minute break!"

The audience all let out a disappointed sigh, they hadn't even realised that they were holding their breaths, that's how captivating the play had been.

"Man, your father is so scary when he glares like that!" Peter's friend whispered to him. "I'm so glad I've never had to be scolded by him!"

Peter Kirkland grinned. "Y'know, _pappa_'s not half as scary as Tino gets when he's real mad. _Him_ you'd wanna stay clear of!"

The friend didn't look terribly convinced, but the man announcing the break started talking again, and their classmates hushed the two friends.

"Snacks and beverages are served in the bar outside, and the children's troupe are performing a small extra-story about how Berwald and Matthew fought the German siblings. We're also holding a tombola with some rather interesting prices, the tickets are being sold next to the bar..."

"Ah, that Latvian guy is in the children's troupe, right?"

Peter's ears went red. He hoped no one noticed. It should be too dark in the hall to see. "Yeah, Raivis, that's right."

"Let's go see him perform, then!"

Peter nodded. That wouldn't seem weird, since everyone else was going, right? He found himself be ushered in the direction of the exit, pushed by all his classmates and the other visitors.

When they got outside the sunlight almost blinded them. It was early autumn; only a few trees were sporting brightly red-coloured leaves, most were still a tired kind of green.

Several of the actors were standing by the bar; they had the privilege to be served first. They were all laughing and talking, even Peter's _pappa_ was smiling.

"Well, he looks a lot nicer when he smiles," the classmate said, obviously relieved that it wasn't the fictional character standing there, but a normal, smiling man.

The actor for Eduard said something, and the 'duke' and the 'servant' went off a bit to the side to discuss.

At the same time, 'Tiina' came around the corner with 'Ivan'.

Another classmate spoke up. "Who is she anyway? She's really pretty..."

Peter snorted, and his friend started laughing.

"What? She _is-"_

'She' pulled off a wig, and when 'she' spoke her voice was lower than the fictional character's had been. The other classmate turned incredibly red and started sputtering something incomprehensible.

"...seriously, though," Tino said to Ivan's actor, "I think it would have been much nicer if the children could've performed on stage."

"_Da,_" the actor said, proving to be just as Russian as his character (Peter idly wondered if the actors had been chosen based on their nationality), "But there just isn't time. And anyway, Raivis really didn't want to be on the big stage, he didn't feel properly prepared."

"Really? I didn't know that! I wish he'd talk a bit more with me, I can't really read him very well..."

Worry twisted Peter's stomach into a knot. It was true. Raivis had almost been a nervous wreck when he told Peter that he was supposed to be on the big stage, and almost blissfully serene when he'd informed Peter that that was no longer the case. But yesterday he'd been nervous again. _What if I forget my lines?_ and _What if I can't play young, cool noble like I'm supposed to?_ Peter had reassured the Latvian boy that he'd be fine and that Peter had never seen an actor of their age that was as good as Raivis was, but maybe Raivis was fretting still...

The Russian actor smiled. "He likes you well enough, he just doesn't want you to worry about him too, on top of everything else." The actor almost managed to keep a smile from showing. "Raivis is more concerned that you're not spending enough time with Peter."

Tino didn't seem to notice, and his face was covered in guilt. "I know," he sighed, "I guess it wouldn't be too bad if at least one of us were home all the time," meaning him or _pappa_, "but since we both had major roles in this one..."

"I don't think you have to worry, Peter is a great kid, _da_? I'm sure he understands, especially since he's been busy helping Raivis and-"

"_Isä!_" Peter interrupted, pointedly not looking at the Russian as he flung his arms around Tino. "You were great!"

Tino laughed, the worry gone from his face.

"_Kiitos, _Peter! Shall we go to the little stage? The extra-story will start soon."

Peter grinned and pulled Tino along into the group of students, several of them still giggling, and the aforementioned classmate still red in the face. The Russian followed a bit after the rest, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as Peter turned to glare at him.

* * *

><p><em>Short, but on the other hand, you'll soon get an exciting encounter between Berwald and Mathias versus Gilbert and Ludwig. :<em>

_Btw, the only time I've seen anyone with the name 'Berwald' was in an Austrian film, I think it was called "Der Schüler Gerbert", and it was the person's family name. _


	4. A ShortLived Alliance

"Die, Swedish pig!" Mathias cried, grinning maniacally as he flung a rock at his cousin, the dukeling Berwald. Berwald, equally enraged but slightly less vocal about it, caught the rock in midair and flung it back at the Dane, who dodged it. This was fortunate, as none of the two were holding back due to a profound, mutual hatred that they had nurtured for their entire, ten-year-long lives.

The two children had been sent outside after having caused a minor incident at the reception that was taking place at the manor Berwald currently resided in, and were thus unsupervised by anyone that cared (the cat hardly paid them any attention). Just as Mathias was picking up another, bigger rock, a loud cackling could be heard, and the cousins spun around.

"Still squabbling among you, _schwächlingchen_?" The albino boy was three years older than the cousins, the blond boy behind him a year younger, and were dressed in far more expensive and carefully tailored clothes than their Nordic peers. The albino, Gilbert, was very well aware of this, and his posture radiated arrogant confidence. His younger brother, Ludwig, was as of yet still a calmer and more shy being, who politely nodded at the cousins. Sadly, his good manners were unobserved.

"Shut up, Prusshit," Mathias snarled.

"That all you got?"

Not one to resort to petty squabbling, Berwald picked up a stick, big enough to be impressive, but slender enough to bend, and whipped it through the air to test it. Satisfied, he corrected his stance and pointed it towards Gilbert.

"_En garde, bâtard._"

Gilbert growled, picking up the largest stick he could find and carry. "_Vous vais le regretter, je vous le jure!_" He charged at Berwald, but was suddenly blocked by Mathias' own stick.

"Créve!"

Faced with a common enemy, the cousins joined forces, and started battering the Prussian from two directions. It had to be said that Gilbert defended himself skilfully, blocking and sidestepping on light feet before charging again. Ludwig picked up a switch of willow with trembling hands, and managed to get in a surprise attack on Mathias before the same kicked him down on the ground, leaving him there crying.

"Ludwig!" Prussia roared and attacked the Dane with double effort, forcing him to retreat several steps, slicing up a nasty cut above his brow. Grinning widely, Gilbert lifted his stick high, preparing to strike down on Mathias, whose eyes widened in realisation and fear. However, at that moment Berwald came from the side and quickly slapped Gilbert over the wrist with his stick. Gilbert dropped his stick, swearing in angry German.

Berwald pulled Mathias upright, and collected the sticks and threw them in the river. The fight was over.

Despite being thoroughly scolded by their parents, nannies and other relatives, Berwald and Mathias spent the rest of the evening relishing their shared victory and a short-lived companionship that ended before morning came.


End file.
